


The Pursuit of Happiness

by TheGiantSquid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-20
Updated: 2007-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-26 07:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10782552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGiantSquid/pseuds/TheGiantSquid
Summary: Harry Potter has great friends, a job he loves, and a peaceful life for the first time in years. So why can’t he just be happy like everybody else?





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Written for [](http://celandineb.livejournal.com/profile)[**celandineb**](http://celandineb.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://community.livejournal.com/hd_holidays/profile)[**hd_holidays**](http://community.livejournal.com/hd_holidays/) Last Hurrah fic and art exchange. The title is obviously from the movie of the same name, though without the misspelling :"> Many, many thanks to my awesome beta and friend, Mizaya, for all her help and encouragement.

 

**Written prior to the release of _Deathly Hallows_ and is now considered AU.** 

* * *

Harry Potter was happy.

Well, okay, maybe not happy. Content was probably a better word. But still, he was living a pretty good life—he had a job he loved, many close friends, and he certainly felt more at peace with the world than he ever did growing up.

It hadn’t always been that way, though, especially after the war had ended and Harry often found himself slipping into a dark depression. Voldemort had taken a toll on him—on his mind, his heart, and his body, and it took Harry a long time to figure himself out. Not long after the war’s end, Harry packed his bags and left the country. He had to get away, and though Harry now knew he’d been escaping his problems, he needed to do it.

He’d traveled to America first, because being separated by a large ocean seemed the best way to avoid his former life, and spent a little over a year living in a miniscule flat in New York City. He worked at a chain coffee house that had a sister store across the street, and while he preferred to be alone most of the time, Harry did manage to make a few acquaintances. Well, one, actually. His name was Bernard.

Bernard had been working at the coffee shop for “a fucking eternity,” and for some reason immediately took Harry under his wing, showing him around the city, introducing him to friends, and then taking him to some very gay nightclubs.

Needless to say, Harry learned a lot about himself those first few weeks, and the months to follow.

Bernard was also the reason Harry had left the city a year later, though Harry didn’t blame him, of course. He knew he was running again, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Besides, Panama was supposed to be beautiful that time of year.

So for nearly four years Harry traveled the world, seeing all the sights he never thought he’d get to live to see, and during that time he learned a lot about himself, about his actions, the war, relationships and Harry’s apparent inability to maintain one, and so forth.

During that time, Harry had been determined to remain in contact with Ron, Hermione, and a few other good friends back in England. So when he received an invitation to Ron and Hermione’s wedding—he hadn’t even realized they were that serious—Harry decided it was time to stop running from his problems and face this new and frightening world he helped to save.

It has been two years since his return home, and while rocky at first (reporters were especially problematic), Harry had slowly adjusted to life as a celebrity and national hero. For a while, he’d avoided working. He didn’t want to be an Auror—he’d had his fill of Dark wizards, thanks; nor did he want to play Quidditch professionally. He loved being a Seeker, of course, but he didn’t want any more fame or fortune. A quiet life was all he required anymore, and he had a perfect job that all but fell into his lap.

With a smile, Harry sat back and admired his handiwork. The wood was smooth, with only a few knots that gave the finished product character and performance enhancement. It was unusual to work with elder wood, but it was one of Harry’s favorites. There was so much mythology and legend surrounding it, and despite himself, Harry found it quite fascinating.

Smiling, Harry shook out a specially designed handkerchief and began to polish the wood, which hummed warmly in his hand.

Just then, a bell on the shop’s door jingled. Harry stood and popped out from behind the curtain that separated the front and back room, and watched as a familiar young boy accompanied by his mother approached the counter. Harry inwardly sighed.

“Mrs Bakerson, how are you today?” he said politely. The woman gave him a brusque nod before nudging her son forward with her wand.

“Go on, Jonah. You know what to do,” she said.

Jonah, a boy of no more than eight with bright blue eyes and a head covered in straw-colored hair, bit his lip and fiercely wiped away a tear that had leaked out the corner of his eye. Jonah glanced up at Harry only once, then lowered his eyes and toed at the floor.

“Hold out your hand, Jonah,” snapped Mrs Bakerson. A severe woman no older than forty, Harry had decided over the past six months since the two of them had been coming into his shop that he didn’t much like the woman. Strict, not a little rude, and much too obsessed with her bloodline. Jonah’s, more specifically.

Frowning, Harry shook his head and said, “Madam, please, I really don’t think—”

“I don’t care what you think, Mr Potter,” she said coolly. “Just hand him a wand, that’s all I require. Anytime, now, it’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

Harry gritted his teeth but produced a tester wand from his back trousers pocket, placing it gently into Jonah’s tiny out-stretched hand.

As had happened every single previous time, no magic occurred, not even the smallest of sparks. Jonah sniffled loudly and wiped his free hand across his nose. Mrs Bakerson’s face was growing more and more strained as time moved on. Finally, she strode forward and snatched the wand out of her son’s hand and threw it at Harry.

“Thank you,” she growled through gritted teeth. Grabbing Jonah’s hand, she turned around and stomped out of the shop.

“Cow,” Harry muttered under his breath, and stowed the wand back into his pocket. Mrs Bakerson and little Jonah had been coming into Harry’s shop every other Monday since the beginning of May, testing to see if Jonah had any magic in him at all. So far, the multiple wand tests had all failed, suggesting that Jonah was most likely a Squib. At first, Harry had objected vehemently, but he soon realized that that only made things worse for Jonah, so he eventually conceded, though not without remorse.

With a sigh, Harry returned to his workbench and admired the elder wood wand perched before him. The process of creating the new wand was nearly complete; all Harry had to decide now was which magical core he should place inside. Coring was the most complicated and time-consuming act in wandmaking, but the first of September had long since passed and he had nearly a whole year to make new wands. That was by far his favorite part of the job.

Leaning back, Harry examined the wood from another angle. The wand would most likely be for a male, given its longer length, since wands typically matched with a person’s height. Elder wood had great regenerative properties and tended to represent the beginning and the end of a cycle. Standing abruptly, Harry strode deeper into the back of the shop, scattering some rats, and pulled out a long, thin box, which thrummed in his hands.

He was just returning to his worktable when the bell to the shop jangled and a familiar voice shouted out his name.

“Oi, Harry, get your pale arse out here!”

Grinning broadly, Harry wiped his hands on his trousers as he walked towards the front of the store. Inside stood Ron Weasley, just as tall and red as ever, grinning and holding a brown paper bag.

“You forget something?” Ron asked with a smirk.

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he glanced at his watch. “Shite, Ron, I’m so sorry! I completely—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ron, plopping the bag down onto the counter and straddling a stool. A delicious aroma rose from the bag. “I figured you’d be so into your wandmaking that you’d lose track of time. So I reckoned I’d bring lunch to you. Fish and chips, mate, your favorite.”

Harry’s stomach rumbled loudly just then and he quickly summoned some silverware from the back room. The two dived in, and soon the smell of greasy but tasty food filled the store.

“What’ve you been up to?” said Harry around a mouth full of fish.

Ron swallowed thickly, then took a swig of butterbeer before replying, “’M on assignment in Italy starting Friday. Apparently the trolls are giving the Italian Ministry a run for their money and they need some help. I’m supposed to be gone the whole week.”

“Bet Hermione wasn’t too happy about that,” Harry replied with a grin.

Ron snorted. “That’s an understatement,” he muttered. “Had a pretty good row about it, with her shouting about how could I leave at such a crucial time and how I was leaving her forever—she’s been pretty emotional, you know,” Ron added, ears reddening. “Been taking a lot of…er, hormonal potions or something, to get her, er, cycle…thing right and I’m supposed to be gone when she’s, um, ready.” Ron’s face blossomed with color.

Harry held up his hands. “I get it,” he said, and Ron sighed in relief. “You two all right now, though?”

“Oh yeah, we’re fine,” said Ron, perking up, and then shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. “Had an amazing make-up fuck, so all’s forgiven.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, “Thanks for sharing.”

Ron grinned cockily. “No problem mate,” he said. “Though there is something else I need to tell you. Ah, you might not like it.”

“That’s a great way to warn people,” Harry said. “Well, what is it?”

Ron shifted on the stool and sucked on his fingers for a moment to remove the last traces of salt and vinegar. Harry was annoyed at himself when he found the sight somewhat arousing.

“Thing is, you’re gonna be called in on a case again,” Ron said at last.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I don’t—”

“It’s a cold case,” said Ron quickly. “It’s been unsolved since the war, apparently. I don’t know too many details, besides that a girl went missing during the war and the parents want closure.”

“I didn’t know the Aurors were that involved in cold cases,” said Harry, and Ron shook his head.

“We generally aren’t, but this is a…special situation, I s’pose.” Ron took a swig of butterbeer. “Family’s pretty well off so they hired a private investigator to have a look at our files, and the Muggle police files as well. The parents are heavily involved in the Muggle world,” Ron added at Harry’s quizzical look.

“So what’s this got to do with me?” said Harry, an uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach.

Ron crumpled the empty bag and threw it in a wastebin. “The only item recovered from the missing girl was her wand. It has a lot of enchantments on it and a couple of spells preventing _Priori Incantatem_ from being performed properly. The PI wants your expertise. He, ah, asked for you specifically.”

“I doubt I’d be much help,” said Harry, scratching the back of his neck. “I make wands, I experiment with them sometimes, but I dunno how well I can be at breaking some of those spells…”

“Will you give it a try, at least?” asked Ron. “I think you and the PI will get along pretty well. He’s a…friend of mine.”

“Why did you pause before ‘friend’?” said Harry quickly.

Ron ignored him. “Just give it a try. I know you don’t usually like working for the Aurors, but trust me on this one…I really think you can help.”

Harry sighed. He’d never been able to refuse Ron’s pleading looks.

**::**

“I hope Ron knows I’m going to kill him,” said Harry cheerfully the following Saturday. He had agreed to meet with the PI in charge of the girl’s disappearance, and at the time it had all seemed really simple. Ron had even set up the lunch meeting, but he conveniently kept forgetting to tell Harry the PI’s name. Harry now knew why.

Across the small table in a small, public tearoom, Draco Malfoy scowled. “Weasley could probably kill you with those freakishly large hands of his,” he said snottily. “Trust me, Potter, you’re no match for him.”

Harry gripped the handle of his tea mug and swallowed half of the scolding beverage in one gulp. Draco Malfoy, Private Investigator. Merlin, it was unbelievable. No wonder Ron didn’t tell him the entire truth, and now the bastard was in Italy, far away from Harry’s vengeful wrath.

“We might as well talk business, Potter,” said Malfoy in that annoyingly superior way that always had a way of ruffling Harry’s feathers.

It was such a bad idea, Harry thought darkly, pairing the two of them up in an investigation. They hated each other, and hate often wasn’t conducive to working relationships, as Harry and Juan-from-Panama could attest to.

“What, you aren’t even going to talk to me?” Malfoy said loudly, drowning out Harry’s thoughts. “I thought your ego would enjoy the nice stroke it got when Weasley told you that I requested you.”

“Ron’s wrong about a lot of things,” said Harry, shoving a scone into his mouth. Malfoy looked disgusted.

“Ugh, honestly, Potter, didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?”

“No,” Harry snapped.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and leant back in his chair, elegantly crossing his legs. He hadn’t really changed much over the years, Harry noticed. Malfoy’s hair was still white-blond, though it was longer now, falling into his eyes; his face had rounded out somewhat, though it was still far too pointy; and his grey eyes were just as condescending as ever.

His body had changed, though. Malfoy had grown a bit over the years, and was now a little taller than Harry, which irked him for some reason. Malfoy’s robes were tailored, fancy, and obviously expensive. In short, nothing had really changed, in Harry’s opinion. Though why Malfoy was a private investigator was completely beyond him at the moment. It wasn’t as if Malfoy ever willingly did anything for other people. Except for that one time during the war when he saved Ron’s life…

“Will you at least read the damn case file?” said Malfoy irritably. Harry looked up to see Malfoy waving a thin manila folder in the air.

Harry paused for a moment, but then nodded and held out his hand. Upon opening the file, he saw a Muggle picture of a smiling young woman with brown eyes, curly brown hair, and a nose covered with freckles.

“Her name is Elyse Caldwell,” said Malfoy, as if Harry couldn’t read. “She disappeared around early August 1998, just a few months before the downfall. Barely eighteen and just out of Hogwarts.”

Malfoy leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “She’d been working as a drone at the Ministry, and on the night of her disappearance, she was on her way to meet a friend at the Leaky Cauldron. She never showed up, obviously. Elyse was reported missing by her parents early the next morning when she never returned home. Upon initial investigation, the primary Aurors on the scene—Roger Dawlish and Noah Williamson—discovered Elyse’s wand planted on her bed. Her parents claimed it had not been there the night before.”

Malfoy took a sip of his tea and watched Harry turn the pages in the report. Frowning, Harry flipped to the front of the file again, then let out a frustrated snort. “It doesn’t say what kind of wand she used.”

“No,” said Malfoy, shaking his head. “Her parents told the Aurors, but they were too stupid to write it down. When we met for the first time, they told me the wand was hawthorn, twelve-and-three-quarter inches, with a unicorn hair core. Elyse had apparently wanted to be a Healer, but she hadn’t earned the marks in school.”

“Where’s the wand now?” asked Harry, staring at Elyse’s unmoving picture.

“Locked down at the Auror division in the Ministry. I have authorization, though, to retrieve it, as well as any other files we might need. So does that mean yes in hero language?”

Harry snapped the file shut. “Yes.”

Later that evening, Harry returned to his shop, feeling drained and hungry. He and Malfoy had discussed the Caldwell case for another four hours until they had finally parted ways. Though Harry was tired, he wanted to visit his shop one more time before he’d close it to the public while he was helping with Malfoy’s investigation.

Malfoy had said that they couldn’t get access to the Ministry until Monday during regular work hours—although the gleam in Malfoy’s eyes told Harry that that hadn’t stopped him before—and Harry was to meet him at the new Fountain of Magic at 8 AM sharp.

The backroom of his shop, since renamed Potter & Ollivander Wands, felt dusty and unused, despite Harry being there just the previous day. Preserved inside a protection spell stood the elder wood wand, its magic humming low and pleasant in Harry’s ears. He wanted badly to be able to finish the wand, to add the final element—a phoenix feather. Even though Harry had Sunday free, it still wouldn’t be enough time to cast the proper spells. It would simply have to keep. A rat scurried across the floor, but Harry paid it no mind.

**::**

Stumbling out of the Floo, Harry lurched forward and began to half-jog towards the new fountain located in the center of the rebuilt Ministry of Magic. He had fallen asleep Sunday night on his sofa while watching the telly and had only woken up twenty minutes ago.

Malfoy wasn’t hard to spot, his white hair practically beaming, and Harry approached quickly. Upon seeing him, Malfoy scowled and said, “You’re late.”

“Ten minutes isn’t that late,” Harry protested. Malfoy stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and gave an audible sniff.

“Have you _bathed_ at all since our last meeting?” he said with a sneer.

Harry felt himself flush. “Yes,” he snapped, tugging on his shirt self-consciously. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? I hate coming down to the Ministry.”

“I’d think you’d love all the attention,” said Malfoy as they queued up for a lift.

Harry gave him the stink-eye. “You know I don’t,” he said, already feeling the heat of dozens of gazes on the back of his neck.

Malfoy merely shrugged elegantly, then stepped into the lift. He pushed the button for their floor quickly, not allowing anyone else but Harry on, and soon they were on their way to the Auror division’s evidence room.

“We just need to breeze in and out,” Malfoy was murmuring. “Afterwards I want us to visit some of Elyse’s friends and roommates, talk to them, see what she was like. I don’t expect it’ll take more than a few hours.”

“Er, we?” said Harry. The door to the lift suddenly opened and Malfoy strode into the dark corridor, leaving Harry no choice but to follow him.

“We?” he repeated once he’d caught up.

Malfoy ignored Harry again to say, “Her evidence box is through door 11435. Since this is door…er, 17, I’d say we’ve a ways to go. Come on, Potter.”

Harry was horrified with himself for obeying without protest. About thirty minutes later, he and Malfoy, both sweating and breathing heavily, heaved themselves to door 11435, and Malfoy then took what felt like another bloody thirty minutes to enter the passcodes into the strange-looking phonebox located next to each door.

Finally, with an ominous clang, the large steel door creaked open, and Malfoy entered without a backwards glance.

Harry paused for a moment, then followed. Inside, the room contained hundreds—possibly thousands—of evidences boxes, all magically preserved and all, apparently, open and unsolved cases. A knot formed in Harry’s stomach at the thought that all these witches and wizards had been killed or gone missing and no one ever knew what really happened.

The room itself was larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, containing a space Harry didn’t think was possible even with magic. The rows containing the boxes were well over thirty feet high, jutting up towards a ceiling obscured by shadows. Lanterns lined the rows, dimly lighting the room barely enough to avoid accidents, but just dark enough to give Harry a headache. It was the kind of place a person could get lost in for weeks. Harry, needless to say, wasn’t too keen to stay for much longer.

Malfoy, thankfully, hadn’t strayed far, and Harry was able to catch up in time to watch as Malfoy magically lowered a small box from an alphabetized row section.

“Here it is,” he breathed, the lanterns creating odd shadows on his face.

“It’s the wand, then?” said Harry, coming to stand besides Malfoy, who nodded.

“We can’t perform any spells or anything on it while in the Ministry, so we’ll have to take it back to your place,” Malfoy said, and shrunk the box to fit into his trouser pocket. “Come on,” he said, gripping Harry’s arm and tugging him towards the door. “I want to start as soon as possible. We’ll pick up some lunch on the way to your flat.”

“Wait—” said Harry, as Malfoy manhandled him. “What? My flat? Malfoy, it’s not even eleven yet, it’s too early for lunch.”

“No time for dilly-dallying, Potter, I’ve got a job to do,” said Malfoy.

“Did you just say _dilly-dallying_?”

“Once we reach the Atrium, just Side-Along us to your flat,” Malfoy continued as if he weren’t a lunatic. “We’ll order Chinese.”

Harry had had enough. Yanking his arm out of Malfoy’s grip, Harry shook him off and said, “First of all—I hate Chinese, so no way. Second, why the hell do you need me around for any of this?” Harry vaguely waved his hands in the air. “I only need to see the wand. I don’t need to go investigating and asking questions and—and investigating. Wands. I just work with wands.”

Malfoy smirked, and leaned against the opposite wall, folding his arms across his chest. “So you like working with _wands_ , Potter?”

Harry growled and Malfoy grinned widely, teeth clearly visible, even in the dark corridor.

The two stood staring at each other for several minutes, Harry’s heart beating in his chest, before Malfoy sighed and dropped his arms.

“Look, Potter,” he began, staring at a point beyond Harry’s left shoulder. “I just need some assistance with this case. Usually Weasley’s around to help, but he’s in Italy consorting with trolls, so you’re the next best thing.”

The hall got very quiet as Harry stared at Malfoy waiting for an answer. Somewhere water dripped steadily and only their breathing could be heard in the silence.

Malfoy sighed again, loudly. “Come on, Potter,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve probably been waiting your whole life to hear me say that I needed you for something. So let that course through your system and let’s be on our way. I want to solve this case. The Caldwells…they’re decent people. Strong, pureblooded family, on the mother’s side. And I knew Elyse, all right?” he admitted, and Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Malfoy pushed off the wall and approached Harry. “Our parents associated often, before the war and—and when things happened.” _When my father was imprisoned_ was what Harry heard. “We weren’t friends,” he went on, “but we got along and I’m doing this for her parents. Free. So let’s get to your flat, check out that wand, and order some Thai.”

Harry’s lips twitched in the corners, but he pursed his lips, appalled at the idea of finding something Malfoy said amusing.

“All right,” Harry said at last, and he barely heard Malfoy puff out a breath. “But we’re getting fish and chips.”

**::**

Harry hadn’t stayed in Panama for long at all. His and Juan’s relationship had become pretty awful towards the end, and Harry had taken the first opportunity to jump broom and head for Brazil. When he first met Juan, though, things had been pretty damn great.

Harry arrived in Panama City on a Thursday, and by Saturday night, he’d already found a job, a flat, and a seedy underground gay club. He was introduced to Juan the Bartender that night, as well as to margaritas, and by the evening’s end, they’d ended up snogging rather enthusiastically.

Juan had been amazing, especially in bed, but soon enough the only activities the couple engaged in were sex and rows. Near the end, it was more rowing than anything. Harry had usually understood those kinds of relationships that involved bickering—he was best friends with Ron and Hermione, after all—and for a while there, he had convinced himself that it was normal, that it was okay for them to be fighting so much, because…that happened sometimes in relationships.

But the fighting only got worse, and one night, it got a little too physical for Harry when Juan pushed him against a door during a row. Harry left the next morning.

Which was why Harry was a little wary as he and Malfoy bickered all the way to his flat about the lunch menu. He told himself not to worry—it wasn’t as if they were a couple. But still, something felt…familiar to Harry, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Harry’s flat was located in Diagon Alley above an outdoor market and right down the street from his shop. It was small, but that was all he needed, and he was quite proud of it nonetheless.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was not so much. “Oh my God,” he said as they walked into Harry’s living room-cum-kitchen. With a look of horror, Malfoy pointed at a plush red and gold sofa against the back wall. “That is the ugliest sofa in existence, Potter,” he said. “Did you steal it from the Gryffindor common room?”

“No,” Harry lied. “It’s comfortable, Malfoy. It won’t kill you to be a little more _polite_ , you know.”

Malfoy sniffed. “I’m always polite and courteous.” He approached the sofa and touched the fabric on the arm cautiously. Apparently satisfied that it wasn’t going to give him a case of the Gryffindors, Malfoy sat down and primly crossed his legs.

For a while there, Harry had almost forgotten Malfoy was a flaming poof, but it all came rushing back to him now. A dark room, mouths coming together, the scent of arousal wafting through the air…

“If you’re done staring at me, I’d like to get started,” said Malfoy, bringing Harry crashing back to reality.

“Er,” he said. “Let me just Floo the Leaky and have them bring us some lunch.”

Malfoy’s head snapped up. “The Leaky Cauldron doesn’t deliver,” he said quickly.

“Sure it does,” said Harry, striding towards his fireplace. “They do it for me all the time.” He paused suddenly, then turned his head. “Er, don’t they?”

Lip curling, Malfoy leaned back into the sofa and crossed his arms. “I’ve Flooed them at least half a dozen times beg— _demanding_ they deliver me dinner after I’d been working on a case for ages, and they always refuse.” Malfoy sneered. “Trust me, Potter, if they deliver food, it’s only to you.”

Harry’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. “That’s not true,” he protested weakly. Harry stared down at the pinch of Floo powder in his hand and suddenly felt nauseous. He _hated_ it when people paid special attention to him. He just wanted to live a normal life, with a normal job and normal boyfriends and normal take-away. Honestly, was that too much to ask?

Malfoy sighed loudly and stood from the sofa. “I’ll Floo them myself and ask, if you don’t believe me,” he said, moving towards Harry.

“No,” Harry said. “Er, I don’t want fish and chips anymore. I like Thai. Thai sounds good, you Floo them.”

Malfoy looked viciously amused. “They’re Muggle, Potter,” he drawled. “Somehow I doubt they’d appreciate a floating head popping up in their fireplace. Don’t you have a telephone?”

Harry gaped. This was getting to be too much. First, Malfoy was being way too nice to him, asking for help and being genial and not a prick. Second, the Malfoy he knew would never condescend to eat Muggle foods, or talk on a Muggle telephone, or even speak of Muggles without a regulatory sneer and air of superiority. Malfoy _hated_ Muggles.

“You hate Muggles,” Harry blurted. Malfoy gave him a nasty look.

“As shocking as this may seem to you, Potter,” he spat, “people can change.” Malfoy stomped back to the sofa and bent down to pick up the files he’d thrown on the table earlier. “When you’ve stopped being a dick, let me know.”

Harry dashed forward and grabbed Malfoy’s arm, spinning him around. “Don’t pull that shite with me,” Harry hissed. “So you’re telling me that you don’t think wizards are better than Muggles now? That purebloods are better than the rest of us? That’s such shite, Malfoy. People like you don’t change.”

Malfoy wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grip. “Fuck you, Potter,” he said angrily. “What does this have to do with anything anyway?” He waved Elyse’s files in Harry’s face. “What do my beliefs have to do with the Caldwell family? Or being an investigator? It doesn’t matter one bloody bit, you giant arse, so just shut your mouth about it!”

Harry and Malfoy glared at each other, chests heaving, and Harry was once again reminded of his relationship with Juan. Only then, those fights hadn’t felt like this one. Those fights hadn’t sent a jolt of pleasure straight down Harry’s spine when Malfoy stared at him, or accidentally brushed up against him. Those fights had never resulted in Harry saying, “You’re right.”

“What?” barked Malfoy.

“You’re right,” he repeated. Malfoy’s face slackened and his lips parted slightly. “It doesn’t matter,” Harry continued. “But that doesn’t mean that…that I don’t believe you, but—I know you want to solve this case, and I want to help, so—just go into my bedroom, use the telephone to call the Thai place, and I’ll—I’ll take a look at the wand, how’s that?”

Blinking slowly, Malfoy nodded and dropped the files back onto the table, then reached into his pocket for the miniature box. With a tap of his wand, the box swelled in size, and Malfoy thrust it into Harry’s hands.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, not looking into Harry’s eyes, and disappeared into the bedroom, which he managed to locate down a short hallway.

“Why does my life always have to be so difficult?” Harry said aloud.

**::**

Malfoy emerged from the bedroom five minutes later looking a little flushed. “The food’ll be ready for pick-up in twenty minutes,” he said, sitting down opposite Harry. “Do you have anything to drink? Or were you just going to let me die of thirst over here?”

Harry rolled his eyes and rose from the sofa to grab two butterbeers from the icebox. When he sat back down, he saw Malfoy was examining Elyse’s wand. “Have you found anything out, then?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head and said, “No, but I need to pop over to my shop for a minute to pick up something. I didn’t want to leave before you’d come back from ordering.”

“What, you didn’t trust me alone in your flat?” said Malfoy snidely.

“No,” said Harry, “I just didn’t want you to think I’d left for no reason.”

He didn’t wait for a response before Disapparating, appearing in his shop a second later. Everything looked the same, and he wasn’t really expecting otherwise, but it felt good to be back, even for a few minutes.

Oswald Ollivander had gone missing before the start of Harry’s sixth year, and had been presumed dead by most. Ollivander hadn’t been dead, though, but actually taken captive by Death Eaters upon Voldemort’s orders.

Harry was in Ireland searching for the Ravenclaw Horcrux when he encountered Voldemort for a third time since his search had begun, and this time, Voldemort had a trick up his sleeve: a new wand, courtesy of Ollivander. That was the first time Harry had been able to truly fight his nemesis without _Priori Incantatem_ and Harry had been lucky to get out alive.

His survival had all been thanks to Ollivander. After his kidnapping, Voldemort had ordered a new wand, and Ollivander had complied, though it had taken him nearly a year. That had been no accident, for Ollivander had made a faulty wand, one that would malfunction and make the user helpless. Voldemort and Harry had only been dueling for mere minutes before the new wand had backfired, and Voldemort had been forced to retreat.

Less than a day later Ollivander’s body had turned up in Diagon Alley, mangled nearly beyond recognition.

Even after leaving England after the war, Harry always felt a connection to Ollivander, a man who sacrificed his life to save another. So when Harry returned home four years later, he decided to visit the famed shop and see if it was still operating.

To his surprise and delight, the shop was open, and curious as to who was now running everything, Harry entered and met a man he’d never seen before.

“What can I do for you?” said the man gruffly.

“Er.” Harry looked around the shop and noticed that the walls seemed a little bare. “I, er, just wanted to come and see how things were going…since—since Mr Ollivander had passed away.”

The man eyed Harry suspiciously. He had nary a hair on his head, with beady dark eyes and a large scar running across his nose. Though quite a bit shorter than Harry, the man nonetheless had an authoritative air about him.

“M’name’s Ollivander, too,” he grunted. “Orson Ollivander. I was Oswald’s brother. Took over the shop after he died. I’m no wandmaker, though,” he added. “I just take care o’ the business.”

“Oh,” said Harry uselessly. “So how do new students get wands, then?”

Orson waved a gnarled hand. “They have to get what’s available,” he said. “Wandmaking’s a dyin’ art. Not too many young people interested in it nowadays.”

Harry looked around the shop, at the empty shelves and dusty workbench, and felt something inside him warm. His heart swelled and for the first time in years, Harry felt like he truly belonged somewhere. “I’m interested,” he said quietly.

“What?” said Orson.

“I’ll buy the shop from you,” said Harry, determination settling into him. “I’ll study, I’ll apprentice—whatever it takes. I want to be a wandmaker.”

It only took a month for all the paperwork to finalize, and although Orson wasn’t hesitant to sell, the shop still hadn’t come cheap. But to Harry, it was worth every Galleon.

The shop was now entirely Harry’s, but even still, he didn’t often give away Ollivander’s well-kept secrets. After Harry had recovered from Apparating from his flat, he walked towards the back of the dim shop and into a small office area. This was where Harry kept all his paperwork and one very precious item.

Bending over, Harry tapped his wand to a hidden door on his desk, springing it open. Inside sat a large, thick ledger covered in a thin layer of dust, since Harry hadn’t needed it since before September.

Without a doubt Ollivander’s memory for remembering wands and their matches was legendary, but Harry wasn’t quite so lucky, so after every sale and every time he made a new wand, Harry wrote it down in his ledger. But it hadn’t always been his—it had belonged to Ollivander, and to his wandmaster before him. Despite his memory, Ollivander still wrote down every sale and creation, and Harry thus did the same.

It had been his best kept secret, and now Harry was going to show the ledger to Malfoy of all people. With a sigh, and realizing he’d stayed much longer than he’d intended, Harry clutched the thick book to his chest and Disapparated.

Inside his flat, Malfoy was stuffing his face with rice. He looked up at Harry in horror, cheeks puffed out, and then swallowed. “I got the food,” he said thickly.

Harry allowed himself a smile as he gingerly placed the ledger onto the coffee table, then began to help himself to lunch.

“I’ve been reading over Elyse’s file,” said Malfoy, eyeing the ledger. “She wasn’t the most popular girl in school, having only a few close friends, so I don’t think it will take us too long to interview them. How do you get electricity to work here?”

Faltering at the sudden change in topic—and also the fact that Malfoy knew the word ‘electricity’ when Ron still couldn’t say it right, despite having lived in a Muggle house for the past two years—Harry took a thoughtful bite of spicy chicken and chewed it over. “I’ve charmed everything,” he said after swallowing. “There’s no electricity in the flat, no outlets or plugs or anything, so I just…spell the telly or whatever to do what I want.”

Malfoy frowned and furrowed his brow. Harry thought it made him look rather striking. “But how is the telephone able to work then? I mean, how can it connect to the Muggle world?”

“Well, I’ve charmed it not to need electricity,” said Harry, actually enjoying the conversation, “but I’ve wired it into London’s cable lines. That was, ah, a bit tricky, but the connection is hidden from Muggles, so there’s no need to worry about it being found out.”

Malfoy leaned back into the sofa and wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking impressed in spite of himself. “That must have taken some time,” he said.

Harry shrugged. “It’s not like I needed any of that stuff right away,” he said. “Took a few months, and I had some help.”

“Whose?” asked Malfoy, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I mean, that’s some advanced magic. Must’ve been a rather powerful wizard.”

Powerful was one word for him, thought Harry as he shoveled rice into his mouth to buy some time. Malfoy, however, seemed to have learned the value of patience over the years and merely waited for Harry to finish chewing.

“Er,” said Harry. “George Weasley.”

Malfoy pursed his lips and hmmed. “That was nice of him.”

Harry merely smiled. “Yes, very nice. He’s a good guy.”

Malfoy made an annoyed noise, then went back to prissily eating his food.

They ate in silence for several minutes, the sounds of Diagon Alley drifting through an open window. When they were finished, Malfoy banished the trash and then opened up Elyse’s file.

“One of her former friends lives just outside London,” he murmured. “She’s currently living at home taking care of her mother who was bedridden after the war.”

“Should we Floo first?” said Harry, and Malfoy shook his head.

“It’s best if we catch her off guard,” he explained. “If you warn people ahead of time that you’re coming, that an investigator is going to be asking them questions, they clam up, come up with tales and lies and half-truths. I find the best way to getting real answers is to turn up unannounced.”

**::**

Harry didn’t remember Sarah Fawcett from school, and said as much to Malfoy, who didn’t seem surprised.

“She left after her sixth year,” Malfoy was explaining as he and Harry approached a small blue house located at the end of a winding street. “Her father had just died and she decided to get a job at the Ministry to help support her mother. She and Elyse kept in contact, and then got even closer once Elyse began her own job at the Ministry in the same department. The Caldwells say the two were best friends.”

As they got nearer to the house, Harry could better see the peeling paint on the front door, the many weeds growing in the small front lawn, the missing shingles on the roof. The whole area, actually, was rather run down and somewhat eerie. Wind whipped through Harry’s hair, disheveling it even more than usual, and clouds blanketed the sky, darkening the already dimly lit street.

Malfoy knocked briskly on the Fawcetts’ front door. “Let me do all the talking, Potter,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. Harry turned to scowl, but paused upon seeing Malfoy’s face.

At Hogwarts, Harry had become accustomed to seeing Malfoy’s sneering visage wherever he went. In fact, to Harry it seemed as if that were Malfoy’s one and only look. But now Malfoy looked…almost pleasant. His face wasn’t blank and cold, but open and professional. It was a little unnerving.

Moments passed before the door creaked open and a young woman with tired eyes peered out at Malfoy. She stared at him for a moment, then turned her gaze on Harry. Her eyes widened considerably and her mouth dropped open.

“Miss Fawcett?” said Malfoy. The woman’s head snapped back towards him.

“Yes?” she said softly, hands clenching the edge of the doorway.

“Miss Fawcett, I’m Draco Malfoy and this, as you may know, is Harry Potter.” Malfoy withdrew a shiny badge from the inside of his robes. “I’m a private investigator. I was hoping I could speak with you today in regard to the disappearance of Elyse Caldwell in 1998. May we come in?”

Sarah’s hand covered her mouth. “Elyse?” she whispered. “Oh…Oh, yes, please come in.” She opened the door entirely, and after a quick glance at Harry, Malfoy strode into the house. Sarah’s eyes followed Harry as he passed through the door and trailed after Malfoy into a dingy living room.

“Please, sit down,” said Sarah. “Can I offer you a drink? Tea, perhaps?”

Harry opened his mouth to refuse, but Malfoy placed his hand lightly on Harry’s knee.

“Tea would be lovely,” said Malfoy, smiling. Sarah nodded and bit her lip, then disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Meanwhile, Harry’s knee felt like it was burning, the heat from Malfoy’s fingertips seeping through his jeans, searing Harry’s skin. Malfoy leaned towards Harry then, fingers digging deeper into his knee.

“Tea will help her relax,” he whispered into Harry’s ear, breath hot against his neck. “It’s a routine, something comfortable, something she’s familiar with. It is thus inhospitable of us if we were to refuse. So let me handle this, all right?”

Harry swallowed heavily and nodded. Satisfied, Malfoy sat back, though his fingers lingered longer than necessary before finally pulling away. Sarah returned shortly thereafter, saving Harry from spontaneous combustion, and served them their tea.

“I’m…I’m so glad to see something being done about Elyse’s disappearance,” said Sarah in a raw voice. “They never investigated it properly—the Aurors, I mean.” She took a shaky sip of her tea, while Malfoy pulled out a quill and parchment and began taking notes.

“Elyse’s mother told me you two were close during school,” said Malfoy.

Sarah nodded. She looked so tired, her brown hair dull and lifeless, her blue eyes too sad for someone her age. It looked to Harry as if she hadn’t seen the light of day for several years.

“We were in Ravenclaw, I’m sure you know,” Sarah continued, and Malfoy nodded. “I left school early, to care of my mother, but we became close again when she began working as a secretary at the Ministry. I was a delivery girl, and we would meet for lunch and just talk and talk like old times.” Sarah’s hands shook as she took a sip of tea.

“What department did Elyse work in?”

Sarah set her tea cup down and began wringing her hands. Outside the wind began to howl. “International Magical Cooperation,” she said. “She worked a lot with Percy Weasley after he was demoted back to his old job.” She turned big blue eyes on Harry. “You remember him, don’t you?”

Harry could hardly forget. Percy had been brutally murdered a few months before the end of the war, his body dumped on the front steps of the Burrow. Molly Weasley still hadn’t fully recovered from that.

“Yeah,” he said through the lump in his throat.

“Did Elyse like her job?” asked Malfoy. Sarah shook her head vehemently.

“Oh no,” she said. “Elyse hated it, though she liked Percy well enough because of Penny. Anyway, she’d always wanted to be a Healer, but she’d been just awful in Potions.” Sarah gave out a half-sob and said, “I can’t imagine why!”

_Snape_ , Harry thought, clenching his hands.

“Do you know what exactly Elyse did for Weasley?” said Malfoy quickly.

Sarah sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue. “A lot of errands. Elyse hated that especially. But she also filed reports and made copies, or took notes. She told me once that she destroyed some documents, too, but never said what they were about.”

Malfoy’s quill stopped moving. “But she did have some idea what they were about, right?” he asked.

Nodding, Sarah said, “Elyse was a quick reader and had one of those—those memories, where people can see something once and remember it forever?”

Malfoy gripped his quill. “Did she ever discuss those documents with you? Or anyone else?”

“Oh no,” she said with a shake of her head. “Elyse was always very professional.”

The room suddenly got very quiet, save for the scratching of Malfoy’s quill as he resumed writing. “Sarah,” he murmured, “tell me about Elyse.”

“What do you mean?”

Malfoy looked up and pursed his lips. “I mean…was she happy? Unhappy? Was she dating someone? What were her thoughts on the war? Anything you can tell us that can help uncover why she disappeared.”

Sarah frowned and picked up her tea cup again. “Elyse wasn’t happy or unhappy. She was just…there. She’d get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, read a book, and go to bed. Then she’d do it all again the next day. Elyse didn’t have much of a life, and even when she did hang out with me and Ernie and Penny—we were all friends from childhood—she was so quiet. Not like the Elyse I knew from Hogwarts and before. She was always thinking, always reading the _Prophet_.

“I’d go over to her flat every once in a while, though,” Sarah continued, “to see if she’d want to grab dinner, but she’d never be in. When I would ask about it the next day, Elyse would always go quiet or she’d get angry and tell me to shut up.”

“Do you think she was seeing someone?” said Malfoy, leaning forward.

Sarah began to shake her head, but stopped midway. “You know…” she said. “I really couldn’t tell you. She _was_ doing something that she wouldn’t tell me about, but I never knew what.”

“Do you think it had anything to do with her disappearance?”

Sarah took a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know,” she breathed. “The last time I saw her, she was going to meet Ernie at the Leaky, but never showed up. We’d had a fight and she had stormed out of here. I never got to say goodbye.” Sarah hiccupped and wiped away a few stray tears.

Malfoy reached out his hand and patted Sarah on the knee. “Sarah,” he said softly, “I know this is difficult for you, but you’ve already helped me so much in better understanding Elyse. I just have a few more questions and then we’ll leave. Is that all right?”

Sarah hiccupped a few more times, then blew her nose loudly. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I want to help.”

“Good,” said Malfoy soothingly. “Now…you said Elyse read the _Prophet_ a lot. Do you know why?”

“She was following the war,” Sarah replied. “She’d become quite obsessed with it.”

“Obsessed how?”

Sarah paused, frowning. “Just that she was always reading up about the progress of the war, where Death Eaters were attacking, where Harry Potter had been sighted last.” She gave Harry an apologetic look. “General things like that.”

“Do you know what she thought of the war?”

This time, the pause lasted considerably longer as Sarah wrung her hands, her face anxious and pained. “That’s what our fight was about,” she said, on the verge of tears. “She was so _smart_ , she knew better, but her parents were being investigated for possession of illegal Dark artifacts and she was working this awful lowly position when others—Muggle-borns and half-bloods—were being promoted ahead of her and—”

“Sarah, what are you saying?” pressed Malfoy, looking startled.

She let out another sob. “I’m saying she didn’t support _you_.” She nodded to indicate Harry, then pointed at Malfoy and said, “She supported _you_.”

**::**

That night Harry found himself sharing yet another meal with Malfoy, who was slumped over a half-empty pint of ridiculously expensive beer as a wicked storm whirled outside the Leaky Cauldron.

“She wasn’t raised that way,” Malfoy mumbled into his mug. “Her great-grandfather was Muggle-born, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry nodded and took another swig of beer. “Did you know any of that stuff about her parents? That they were being investigated?”

“No,” growled Malfoy, slamming his mug down on the table and rattling the silverware. “They left that little piece of information out.”

“Are you going to talk to them?”

Malfoy shook his head. “No…I’ll go to the Ministry early tomorrow morning and see what I can find out. Then you and I are going to stop by Ernie Macmillan’s before dropping in on the Caldwells’ and having a look around Elyse’s room.”

Harry tried to nod, but all his head did was loll forward. “All right,” he mumbled. “I’ll take a look at the wand while you’re doing all that, see what I can find out.”

Picking up his mug, Malfoy clinked it against Harry’s, then swallowed the rest of the contents, his throat muscles moving against creamy white skin. Harry quickly looked away.

“Fuck, I don’t want to Apparate all the way to the manor,” said Malfoy despondently. “An’ I sure as hell don’t wanna Floo. Get soot all over m’clothes.”

Unfortunately for Harry, any kind of alcohol he had would obliterate the link between his mouth and his mind, and he ended up blurting, “You can stay at my flat, if you want.”

Raising his head, Malfoy blinked at Harry, then snorted. “Smooth, Potter…”

Harry flushed and hurried to say, “You can sleep on the couch. Or transfigure it, I don’t care. But you’re a little drunk, and I’m a little drunk, so it’d be a bad idea to Apparate, ‘cause you’ll splinch, or to Floo, ‘cause you might say the address wrong. My flat’s just around the corner, you know. Much safer.”

Malfoy furrowed his brow and looked into his empty pint as if searching for an answer. After several tense minutes in which Harry’s heart felt as if it was going to thump right out of his chest, Malfoy raised his head and smiled. “Sure, Potter.”

The two stumbled into Harry’s flat ten minutes later, laughing their arses off about…something. Harry couldn’t quite remember. Malfoy lurched into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa, letting out a sigh of relief. “Get me some blankets, Potter,” he said haughtily, and Harry was too far gone to be offended. With a shaky wave of his wand, ten blankets appeared from the ceiling and dropped down onto Malfoy, who let out an indignant squawk.

“Thanks,” he said in a muffled voice, then leaned his head against the back of the sofa and began to snore. Loudly.

Harry found this ridiculously funny and laughed all the way to his room. He managed to divest himself of clothing, but putting on pajamas required way too much concentration, so Harry just fell into bed and curled up under the covers in only his boxers. He was asleep in minutes.

**::**

The next morning, Harry woke up with what felt like an entire parade marching through his skull, complete with elephants and a hundred-person band. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. It took much too long, in Harry’s opinion, to find the Hangover Potion, but when he finally did, he sighed in relief as it coursed through his body, relieving the headache and severe dry mouth.

Once the fog had lifted from his mind, Harry suddenly remembered everything that had happened the night before, including inviting Malfoy into his flat. Inwardly groaning, Harry peeked around the corner and saw that the sofa was empty and that Malfoy was gone.

Harry didn’t look too much into why he felt disappointed.

After a quick shower, Harry sat down in the living room and opened up the box containing Elyse’s wand. Peering down at it, Harry frowned as he noticed some odd discoloration in the wood. He grabbed his ledger and flipped to the massive section separating hawthorn wood from the others. After flipping further into the ledger, the magical pages expanding as his search continued, Harry then searched for Elyse’s birth year and then surname, having alphabetized the ledger himself.

He found Elyse’s name quickly, then stared at the ledger for what felt like hours before sitting back and running a hand over his face.

After getting himself a strong cup of tea, Harry sat back down and stared once more into the box containing the wand. He gazed blankly at the grey wood and then with a mumbled incantation, the wand rose steadily from the box. Rotating it gently in the air, Harry examined it closely, noting the unusual polish, the dark patches in the wood, and the overall craftsmanship of the wand.

Just then, the doorknob to Harry’s flat rattled and he turned his head in time to see Malfoy forcing himself inside. He seemed momentarily surprised to see Harry, but recovered quickly. And then Harry noticed the suitcase. The very large suitcase. Harry looked up at Malfoy and raised his eyebrows.

Two pink patches appeared high on Malfoy’s cheeks and he coughed. “I went to grab some clothes from the manor after going to the Ministry this morning,” he explained. “It’s a lot easier just staying here in London while I’m still investigating, but don’t worry, Potter, I was planning on checking in at the Leaky or elsewhere. I just thought I could stow this here for now.”

Harry ducked his head and smiled to himself as he lowered Elyse’s wand back into the box. After shoving his suitcase into a corner, Malfoy came to sit by Harry on the sofa. “So did you find anything out?”

“Oh yeah,” said Harry. “This isn’t Elyse’s wand.”

Malfoy went very still and Harry felt a bit pleased with seeing Malfoy look so dumbfounded. “What?” he said weakly.

“Yeah, it’s not her wand,” said Harry with a smile. “It’s a decent reproduction, but it wasn’t made by Ollivander.”

“You can tell all that just by looking at it?” said Malfoy, sounding awed, and Harry’s stomach lurched.

“Er, yeah,” he said. He levitated the wand again and pointed to a dark spot near the tip. “See that? Common hawthorn wood shouldn’t do that. At least not if it’s made properly, and Ollivander would not have allowed that rot to set in. This wand has no finish on it, either. Most importantly, though,” he continued, maneuvering the wand around, “it’s only twelve inches long. Elyse’s was twelve-and-three-quarters. Ollivander would never have got the length wrong. So this wand never belonged to Elyse.”

Malfoy, whose mouth had been hanging during Harry’s explanation, leaned forward and stared at the floating wand. “Does it work, though?” he asked. “I mean, does it have a core?”

“I can’t tell yet,” said Harry. “The Aurors were right—there are spells and jinxes protecting the wand from too much examination.”

“But can you remove them?” said Malfoy quickly.

Harry allowed himself a smirk. “Absolutely. Whoever made this wand had some talent, but he was awful at Defensive Spells in general. It shouldn’t take me longer than a day.”

Malfoy let out a breath, looking relieved. “See, Potter, this is exactly what you were needed for.” He frowned suddenly and swore under his breath. “You know what this means, though, don’t you?” he asked.

Harry nodded grimly. “Yeah. Where is Elyse’s real wand?”


	2. Part II

  
Author's notes: Continued from Part I. :)  


* * *

After Juan-from-Panama, Harry decided to stop fucking his way around the world and get serious about his life. There was a reason he had left England in the first place, and it wasn’t to see how many men he could screw around with. He decided to leave the Americas altogether and next found himself in Australia. He’d stayed for nine months before packing his bags and heading for India, then Egypt, and finally arriving in Bulgaria.

Viktor had been very pleased to see Harry, since the last time they’d met it had been while he’d been searching for the Horcruxes. Viktor had invited Harry into his home, his life, for nearly a year, before inviting Harry into his bed.

“But…I thought you liked Hermione,” Harry said breathlessly as Viktor sucked on a very sensitive part of Harry’s neck.

“Mmm,” Viktor hummed. “Yes, she is nice, very beautiful, but she is vith Veasley now, yes? You are very beautiful as vell.” He bit down lightly on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Viktor’s long fingers splayed across Harry’s belly, scratching and tugging lightly on the hair that led down into his tented boxers. With a wide smile, Viktor kissed his way down Harry’s flushed body and his brain pretty much shut down after that.

His and Viktor’s relationship was the only thing Harry could ever call an actual relationship. They had dinner together every time Viktor was in town; they’d go to the cinema or out to eat; they fought, made up, fucked, farted in each other’s presence. Harry loved it, and for the first time in a long time, he felt happy and at peace with himself. Viktor showed Harry what a good life could be like, what a healthy relationship was like.

Which was why he was devastated when Viktor broke it off.

“You are not happy here,” he said in a soft rumbling voice. Harry’s eyes were burning and his stomach was rolling violently. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“I am happy,” Harry choked. “I love…it here. I love being with you.”

“But do you love _me_?” said Viktor.

Harry opened his mouth, the words were right there, he could say them, but nothing came out. He stared at Viktor, and then in horrifying silence watched him walk out the door.

Ron and Hermione’s wedding invitation arrived the next day and Harry didn’t hesitate. He left without saying goodbye.

Malfoy was extremely grumpy as he and Harry made their way towards Ernie Macmillan’s large house. It had begun raining not long after they had left Harry’s flat, soaking Malfoy to his skin because he couldn’t cast a Protection Spell quickly enough. Harry, meanwhile, rather enjoyed seeing Malfoy’s muscles move through his wet shirt and watching Malfoy flick his hair out of his eyes.

_I really needed to get laid_ , Harry thought.

Soon enough, Malfoy was pounding on Ernie’s front door, looking flustered and a little irritated. The door swung open a moment later and a squeaky voice said, “Can Duffy be helping you sirs?”

Harry’s head snapped down to find a fat house-elf staring up at him with round blue eyes.

“Er,” he said.

“Tell Master Macmillan that Detective Malfoy and Harry Potter are here to see him,” said Malfoy imperiously. “Well, go on!”

Duffy squeaked and then disappeared with a crack. A few moments later, Ernie came scurrying down the hall, a wide grin plastered to his face. “Harry!” he crowed, grabbing Harry’s hand and shaking vigorously. “H-How good to see you! Please, come in, come in. Here, let me take your cloaks.”

Ernie sniffed at the sight of Malfoy’s drenched robes, but didn’t say anything, to Harry’s relief. He led the two through the foyer, past several elaborate tapestries, and into a large room filled to the ceiling with books. Ernie gestured for Harry and Malfoy to sit, and then Duffy appeared carrying a tray laden with tea and scones.

“It’s _so_ good to see you again, Harry,” said Ernie earnestly, staring in a way that gave Harry gooseflesh. “I’m glad to see you keeping in touch with the people who supported you in the war.” Here he cast a disgruntled look at Malfoy, who scowled.

“Yes, well, we’re not quite here to catch up on old times,” Harry said quickly. “Malfoy here’s a private investigator who’s been hired by the Caldwells to look into Elyse’s disappearance. We were hoping you’d help us out.”

Ernie had gone very still and his eyes shifted back and forth between Harry and Malfoy. “I don’t know anything about Elyse’s disappearance,” he said, then stood quickly. “Look, I have a really busy afternoon, so not to be rude, but I need to get going—”

“If you know anything, you need to tell us,” said Malfoy, speaking for the first time. “Her parents still haven’t recovered. Her mother sobs whenever I meet with them. We just saw Sarah Fawcett yesterday and she’s still upset about it. If you know anything, Macmillan, you have a responsibility to tell us.”

Ernie’s face turned a shade of red that could rival Ron’s, but after several long moments he sighed and sat back down. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Sarah said that Elyse was going to meet you at the Leaky Cauldron the night she disappeared. What was the purpose of the meeting?”

“It wasn’t a _meeting_ ,” Ernie mumbled. “It was a date. We were dating at the time, though she hadn’t told her parents or anyone else. I don’t know why she wanted to keep it a secret, so don’t ask.”

“What did you do when she didn’t show up?” asked Malfoy, who once again had pulled out a quill and parchment.

“I assume she’d stood me up. She’d done it before,” he added under his breath.

“What do you mean?”

Ernie sighed, then took a sip of tea. “We’d made plans before and she’d either back out of just not show up. And not just me, but with Sarah and Penny too. She didn’t even go to Percy Weasley’s funeral, and she worked for the bastard. Er, sorry,” he added when Harry glared.

Malfoy nodded and then pulled out the set of notes he’d taken at Sarah’s house. “Do you have any idea where Elyse was going when she wasn’t with you?”

A long silence passed as Ernie frowned into his teacup. “No. But…I had an idea.” He sighed loudly. “I thought she was cheating on me.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows flew into his hairline. “Why did you think that?”

“It was the little things,” said Ernie, sounding sad. “She’d tell Sarah or Penny that she’d be meeting ‘him’ at a restaurant, but that would never be me, you know? Penny would say that Elyse would talk about important meetings she’d have, but Elyse was just a secretary. She wasn’t important. But she just…she was different. She’d disappear for hours at a time, then show up looking pleased as punch. She’d talk about the war and how much she wanted to help the ‘cause’.” Ernie trailed off and frowned. “I assume Sarah told you, then?” he said softly.

“Miss Fawcett informed us that Elyse’s loyalties lay with the Dark Lord, yes,” said Malfoy carefully.

Ernie let out a soft snort. “You could say that. She got quite fanatical about it near the end, always going on about how much she was doing for the cause, how much she was helping, how _he_ was so proud of her.”

“He?” said Malfoy, leaning forward.

“I don’t know who he was,” said Ernie, suddenly sounding angry. “I don’t know if _he_ was the one she was cheating with, or if _he_ was a Death Eater. But there was definitely someone.”

“Do you know where Elyse would meet this man?”

“No,” Ernie growled. “If I had, I would have punched his lights out, or—or killed him!”

Malfoy’s quill scratched loudly against the parchment, allowing Ernie some time to cool down. Finally, Malfoy raised his head and said, “Thank you, Mr Macmillan. You’ve helped us a great deal…Now, if we could speak to the lady of the household, I’d appreciate it.”

Ernie looked stunned, then a small, humorless smiled crept onto his face. “You do you research well, Malfoy,” he said coolly. “But Penny’s not home. She’s at work, and she hates to be disturbed.”

“How did you know they were married?” Harry later asked after he and Malfoy had been shown out of the house.

“They’re not,” replied Malfoy as he fastened his cloak. “Did you see a ring on his finger? No, they’re just living together. Quite scandalous, actually, but since you don’t read beyond the first page of the _Prophet_ , you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

“Oh shut up,” Harry muttered. “So you do you think this man was? The one she was meeting?”

“If I knew, Potter, I wouldn’t be standing here with you, now would I?” Malfoy sighed and stepped out onto the path leading away from the house. “Penelope Clearwater works in the Department of Mysteries, so it’ll be impossible to catch her at the Ministry. And by the time she returns home, Ernie will have warned her about us and her information will be useless.”

“I’m sure—”

“ _Useless_ ,” Malfoy spat. He grabbed Harry’s upper arm and said, “Come on,” before Disapparating with a loud crack.

“You need to warn someone when you’re going to do that,” said Harry, blinking away the dizziness.

“I’m going to the loo,” Malfoy announced, and when Harry looked up, he had vanished into the bathroom.

Harry opened his icebox and stared into the emptiness, contemplating what he should have for lunch—two week old lettuce or a jar of marmalade?—when Malfoy gave out a loud shriek. Tripping over his feet, Harry stumbled towards the bathroom door and knocked rapidly.

“Malfoy, are you all right?”

The door swung open then, causing Harry to lurch forward and nearly fall into Malfoy’s arms.

“Rat!” Malfoy gasped. “You have rats! That is so unbelievably disgusting, Potter, I swear. _Ugh_!” He roughly pushed past Harry and stormed into the living room, with Harry trailing behind, feeling lost.

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t have rats,” he said. “I’m not a slob. And, well…even if I did, so what? I live in London. Rats are kinda the prerequisite for living here.”

“It’s _disgusting_ ,” Malfoy moaned. “They carry disease, they’re filthy, they bite and claw and chew. For all you know, they’re fucking Animagi!”

Harry and Malfoy both instantly froze and Harry’s heart began to pound in his chest. “When was Elyse reported missing?” said Harry. “The following morning, right?”

“August ninth,” said Malfoy. “So she went missing on the eighth.”

Harry stepped very close to Malfoy and said, “Peter Pettigrew was found dead on August eighth.”

“You don’t think…”

Malfoy’s breaths came faster and faster. He grabbed onto Harry’s arm again and said, “Come on. The Caldwells aren’t home and I want to check out Elyse’s bedroom again.” Without another word, he and Harry Disapparated.

**::**

“I’m pretty sure this is breaking and entering,” said Harry conversationally as Malfoy spelled his way into the Caldwell home. “I’m pretty sure we could get arrested for this.”

“Will you shut up?” said Malfoy through gritted teeth. With one final wave of his wand, the backdoor swung open, and Malfoy pulled Harry through the threshold. “Elyse’s room is at the top of the stairs and to the right. I’ll meet you up there in a minute, I need to put up some spells to warn us if the Caldwells come home early.”

Harry nodded and quickly bounded up the stairs. Elyse’s room was easy to find, but Harry paused upon entering. It was eerie, he thought, to see it the same way Elyse had left it. The bed sheets were still crumpled, a pair of trousers were still draped on the back of her desk chair. A thick layer of dust had settled over everything, and bright light streamed through the open curtains on the window. Nearly everything was pink, from the color on the walls to the carpet on the floor.

“She was their only child.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin and he threw a glare at Malfoy as he strolled casually into the room, smirking.

“What do you hope to find in here?” asked Harry as Malfoy bent down over her desk.

“I don’t know. Anything. A diary, preferably. Her mother said she’d kept one. Help me look for it.”

Malfoy then actually got down on his knees to peer underneath her bed, and then searched between the mattress and box springs. Harry, meanwhile, watched in amusement, enjoying the look of Malfoy’s arse up in the air, then said, “ _Accio Elyse’s diary_!”

Malfoy’s head snapped up, and then with a yelp he ducked again as a simple black book barreled over his head and towards Harry. Snatching it easily out of the air, Harry flipped the diary open and began to read.

Grumbling, Malfoy hauled himself off the floor and came to stand beside Harry, peering down at the diary. “Does it say anything useful?” he asked, breath puffing against Harry’s skin.

Harry suppressed a shiver as best he could. “I, er, dunno. Let’s take it back to my flat so you can read it and I can work on the wand.”

“Good idea,” said Malfoy. His hand slipped into Harry’s and a moment later, they reappeared in Harry’s flat. Malfoy dropped his hand immediately, then flopped onto the sofa. Harry stared after him for a moment, his stomach rolling in an all too familiar way, and suddenly found that he had to get out of there. He needed to be alone, if only for a little while.

Stepping over to the sofa, Harry picked up the box that contained Elyse’s wand and said, “I’m gonna take this to my shop. I’ve better equipment and potions there for dealing with this kind of stuff. I’ll bring lunch back when I’m done, how’s that?”

Malfoy mumbled something in agreement and shooed Harry away with his hand. Smiling in spite of himself, Harry Apparated into his shop and instantly felt more at ease.

_It’s impossible_ , Harry thought as he sat down at his worktable and pulled out Elyse’s wand. _I don’t even know him. For God’s sake, it’s Malfoy! With his pureblood issues and pointy face and pointy nose and silky white hair and pink, full lips—Stop it!_

“Fuck,” he muttered, and banged his head against the table. Okay, fine. Yes. He thought Malfoy was attractive, so what? He also thought Ron was attractive, but that didn’t _mean_ anything. He just hadn’t had sex in a while—nine months, whatever. That was all. He was just sexually frustrated, and Malfoy was there, and he had nice hair, and Harry knew without a doubt that Malfoy was gay.

Malfoy showed up on Grimmauld’s steps mere weeks after he and Snape had fled Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died. To this day, Harry still didn’t know how Malfoy was able to see the house and get past the Fidelius, but he did, and Malfoy was allowed to stay in Harry’s house, eat Harry’s food, and generally make Harry’s life a living hell.

Malfoy’s room was across from his own, and they would run into each other often on the stairs or in the hall. They’d exchange words, have a scuffle or two before turning in for the night. Harry, for the most part, just pretended Malfoy didn’t exist. But Malfoy was always there, in the way, in the library or the kitchen or the loo. Harry could never seem to avoid him.

Only angering Harry further was the fact that people like Mr Weasley and Remus allowed Malfoy to live there, had welcomed him with open arms. They never explained their reasoning, only saying that Malfoy wasn’t the same person anymore, and can’t you learn to like him?

Harry hated him; he’d always hated him and he always would.

Not too long after, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left to search for and destroy the remaining Horcruxes, not knowing at the time that Malfoy was in possession of the locket. After six months, and the destruction of Hufflepuff’s cup and Ravenclaw’s wand, the exhausted trio returned to Grimmauld Place.

“We have no idea where the locket could be,” Harry explained later that night to a select few members of the Order. At first, he had avoided telling them about the Horcruxes, but he soon realized that he would need all their help, and told them as little as he could without giving too much away. All they knew was that he was searching for artifacts that had belonged to the founders of Hogwarts.

“We’ve interrogated Dung twice under Veritaserum, but he still doesn’t know what happened to the locket,” said Tonks, her blue hair nearly blinding. “All he can tell us is that he sold it to some man in a dark hood in Knockturn. Fat load of help that is.”

Harry wearily ran his hand over his face, upsetting his glasses. “We need to sleep,” he said, indicating himself, Ron, and Hermione. The meeting ended shortly thereafter, and Harry trudged up the stairs to his room. When he opened the door, however, he found Malfoy sitting primly on his bed and wearing a smirk that could rival the best of them.

Frowning, Harry slammed his door shut and stormed over to Malfoy, who remained seated. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Harry demanded.

Malfoy remained completely unperturbed. Instead, he rose slowly and pulled a long, fleshy Extendable Ear from his trouser pocket. Harry saw red and with a shout, he shoved Malfoy backwards onto the bed. Straddling him, Harry wrestled the Ear out of Malfoy’s grip and then pinned Malfoy’s wrists down.

“Were you _spying_ on us?” Harry hissed.

“It’s ridiculously easy,” said Malfoy, licking his lips. “They never put spells up anymore. They trust me, Potter.” He gave a twisted smile.

Harry’s grip tightened and he felt a surge of satisfaction when Malfoy winced.

“Potter,” he said through clenched teeth, “look under my shirt.”

“What?” said Harry, startled.

“My shirt, you giant freak,” Malfoy snapped. “You might like the locket I’m wearing.”

For six months, Harry had been searching for Slytherin’s locket, and it had been around Malfoy’s neck at Grimmauld Place the entire time.

After the locket was destroyed, the only Horcrux left was Nagini, and as the year passed, tensions were getting high. Everyone sought ways to relieve the pressure and the pain they were feeling. Ron and Hermione christened every room at Grimmauld. Molly baked enough food to feed a small army. Harry wanked endlessly. And Malfoy, apparently, began to fuck Weasleys.

Well, one Weasley to be exact.

Harry’s eighteenth birthday had passed uneventfully, with no attacks or sightings of Voldemort. Molly had baked a small cake and a few people showed up to congratulate Harry, including Fred and George Weasley.

Having not seen them in ages, Harry actually enjoyed spending time with the twins, who never failed to make him laugh and keep his spirits high. But after Percy’s death in early September, even the twins couldn’t fake any cheer. Fred and George moved into Grimmauld a few days later in order to help take care of their mum, who was inconsolable.

That night, Harry was on his way to bed when he heard an odd noise coming from Malfoy’s bedroom. Since Harry could never resist when his curiosity was piqued, he crept towards the bedroom and pressed his ear against the door.

Moaning, two voices, gasps of pleasure. Harry jerked back and gaped in astonishment. Malfoy was having sex, and Harry wasn’t? Despite being indignant, Harry’s cock was swelling between his legs and his heart was pounding through his chest. One little peek wouldn’t hurt, would it? Malfoy would be so caught up in the sex that he surely wouldn’t notice Harry.

But just to be safe, Harry quickly ran back to grab his Invisibility Cloak. When he returned, the moans had intensified, making Harry grow even harder, and with a murmured spell, the door unlocked and silently opened just a few inches.

That was all Harry needed to see exactly what was going on in the room. Malfoy lay on his back, legs wrapped around a freckled arse, head thrown back as George Weasley thrust into his body.

Harry quietly closed the door, snuck back into his room, and then proceeded to have the best wank of his life. Two days later, Harry left to destroy Nagini. He never spoke of what he saw to anybody.

**::**

As he removed the last of the Protection Spells surrounding the wand, Harry sat back and admired his handiwork. The jinxes had been juvenile, fifth year level at most, and the spells a joke. Any Auror could have removed them, but Harry suspected they just didn’t care.

Harry stared at the floating wand for a minute, contemplating it from different angles, before he reached his hand out and gripped it in his palm.

No warmth. No magic. It wasn’t a real wand.

Standing, Harry strode into the back room and pulled out his wand corer. Gingerly placing the wand between the two ends, he cranked the corer once, twice, then stopped and removed the wand.

Inside the core was a white wisp of something, but even a child could tell that it was no unicorn tail. With his thumb and forefinger, Harry eased the fake core out of the wand and placed it on the table.

Harry ran a quick diagnostic and determined that the core belonged to a regular, non-magical horse. Grabbing the wand and core, Harry quickly Disapparated.

“I got lunch,” Malfoy said in a scathing tone. “Since you’ve been gone for _hours_. Try Flooing next time, you arse, when you know you’re going to be late.”

“The wand’s fake,” said Harry breathlessly, and Malfoy sat up straighter. “I mean—the wood, it’s real. S’not like it’s hard to find hawthorn if you know where to look. The length, it’s wrong, you know that. But the core. It wasn’t unicorn, just horse hair.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Elyse used to ride. She owned a horse, kept it in a stable in Hyde Park.”

“Pettigrew’s body was found outside a horse stable,” Harry said in a low voice.

Malfoy stood up and thrust Elyse’s diary into Harry’s hands. “I’ve been reading nonstop since you left. She mentions meeting a man every Thursday down at the stables. She was passing information. All those documents she was told to destroy, she didn’t—she kept them and then gave them away.”

Harry grabbed the diary and flipped it open, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “Did she ever say what those documents contained?”

“No, not specifically, but Potter…She called the man her ‘pet’.”

“Pettigrew,” Harry growled.

“But he’s dead,” said Malfoy, looking a little wild, his hair sticking up in the back. “You saw the body, didn’t you? Even he wasn’t that talented.”

“He’s faked his death before.” Harry clenched his fists. “He could have done it again.”

“But is he that stupid?” said Malfoy. “I mean—all right, say he did fake his death. He sure as hell wouldn’t hang around here, would he?”

“You’d be surprised,” muttered Harry. “Where was Pettigrew buried?”

Malfoy frowned. “I don’t know. I could find out, though. But not until tonight, after the Ministry closes. I don’t have access to those, ah, particular areas. Why?”

Harry set his jaw. “Because we have to exhume the body.”

“We can’t do that on our own, Potter,” hissed Malfoy. “We need to present our findings first to the Wizengamot, plus we need to find an Auror who’ll back us up in court.”

“Ron’ll do that—”

“Yes,” said Malfoy, “but Weasley’s in Italy until Saturday.”

“We can’t just let Pettigrew get away!” Harry shouted. Malfoy made an angry face and stomped forward, pressing Harry back against the door.

“Listen to me, Potter,” he growled. “I didn’t come all this way just to have you fuck up my career. We have to be _patient_ , we have to _wait_ , all right? Listen, I’ll try to dig up as much information on Pettigrew as I can, see if it’s possible he could have made that wand. You, meanwhile…get some sleep, you look like shite.”

Harry snorted, and at once he felt himself deflate, slumping against the door. “He all but murdered my parents,” Harry whispered, and Malfoy’s eyes lost some of their edge. “He killed Cedric and brought Voldemort back. If it weren’t for him…” Harry trailed off, staring at a point beyond Malfoy’s shoulder.

With a sigh, Malfoy’s fingers brushed Harry’s chin, drawing his attention. “If he is alive, we’ll find him. And we’ll make the bastard tell us what he did to Elyse.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Malfoy was so close, he could see every eyelash, and Harry’s body felt aflame. Then Malfoy stepped away, quickly dropping his arm, and turned towards the sofa.

“Listen, Potter,” he said thickly, “it’s getting late. Would it be all right if I stayed here again? Just for one night.”

“Yes,” Harry said at once. Malfoy turned around and smiled slightly. “The Ministry’ll close in a few hours. Let’s get all our evidence together and organized to present to the Wizengamot. Owl Weasley, too, and see if he can’t Apparate here for just a few hours while we present to the court.”

Nodding, Harry and Malfoy stared at one another for a few moments, then Malfoy turned back to the sofa and began leafing through his notes.

**::**

Several days passed before Harry heard back from Ron. With a soft hoot, Hedwig glided through Harry’s open window and landed delicately on his shoulder. “There’s a good girl,” he murmured, removing the parchment tied to her leg. She nipped his fingers affectionately and then flew into her cage where she promptly tucked her head under her wing and began to snooze.

Unfurling the parchment, Harry walked over to Malfoy and showed him the letter:

_Harry and Draco—_

_I got your letter and I’ve already arranged for you to meet the Wizengamot tomorrow at 9:00 sharp. I hope you can stand to wait that long. It’ll be a small hearing, nothing like your fifth year Harry, so don’t worry. Edward Elderberry will be presiding. He’s fair. My dad’ll be there too so you two have nothing to worry about._

_Blimey, I can’t believe this is all happening again. Harry promise me we’ll get the bastard._

_I’m doing fine. The Italian Ministry is full of gits. Nothing new. Oh, Hermione is pregnant._

_—Ron_

“Oh my God,” Harry breathed.

“I know,” said Malfoy. “Weasley has appalling grammar.”

“No, you idiot!” said Harry with a laugh. “Hermione’s pregnant! That’s so fantastic, I have to go see her. I can’t believe they didn’t tell me.”

“I figure she was waiting to tell you after Weasley returned,” said Malfoy.

Comprehension dawned and Harry had to agree. “You’re probably right,” he said, mulling over the note again. “Wow, I’m gonna be an uncle…”

Malfoy snorted but otherwise didn’t tease Harry as he’d expected. That night, Harry and Malfoy went over their notes again for their presentation to the court, then ate some take-away from another restaurant Malfoy had recommended. Soon enough, conversation turned towards their days at Hogwarts, before the war, before everything went to hell.

“You should’ve seen his face,” Malfoy wheezed, taking another gulp of wine, face flushed. Harry was struggling not to laugh, but was having a hard time with it. “Weasley was horrified. It was brilliant. I was so proud of that song…” Malfoy mused. “‘Weasley is our king, he always lets the Quaffle in!’”

“That’s an _awful_ song,” said Harry, then laughed at the look of indignation on Malfoy’s face. “Why did you always have to antagonize him so much?”

“Ahh, isn’t it obvious,” Malfoy said, grinning. “Wanted to get into his knickers!”

Harry burst out laughing and clutched at his side. “Oh I see!” he said. “You’ve always had a thing for him, then? Liked to annoy him just to see how red he could turn?”

“You’ve got it, Potter,” said Malfoy, losing the teasing tone in his voice. “Why do you think I threw myself in front of the curse that was meant for him during that battle?”

Snorting loudly, Harry shook his head and took another swig of wine. “Because you looooved him?” He began to laugh again at the absurdity.

“Yes,” said Malfoy, very quietly.

Harry sniggered again, but sobered quickly when he realized Malfoy was being completely serious. “Wait—I don’t understand…” he said. “You hated Ron.”

“Have you never liked someone even though you hated them at the same time?” said Malfoy softly, rolling the wineglass between his fingers.

“Yes,” Harry blurted, thinking of Juan…No, not Juan anymore. Malfoy.

“That was Weasley for me,” continued Malfoy, staring down into his wine. “I really hated myself, you know, because I was appalled that I could like someone so ridiculous, so Gryffindor…so _red_.” He shrugged a bony shoulder. “It got worse after you three returned from your little quest. He was always there, always around, always snogging Granger.”

“You sort of like Hermione,” said Harry weakly.

“I do now,” admitted Malfoy. “But definitely not always.”

Harry was so confused. “I don’t get it,” he admitted. And then, things went horribly wrong, all because that little link between his mouth and his brain had been destroyed again by the wine. As if in slow motion, Harry felt the words bubbling up in his throat and spewing out of his mouth. “I saw you fucking George Weasley once.”

What followed was possibly the loudest silence Harry had ever heard. Malfoy stared at him in horror, his cheeks flooding with color. He slammed his wineglass onto the table, breaking the stem and sloshing wine all over the table, and marched out of the room. Harry flinched when he heard his bedroom door slam shut and he knew he’d been sleeping on the sofa tonight.

Twenty minutes later Harry was lying awake after taking a cold shower, staring up at his ceiling and contemplating brushing his teeth when he heard his bedroom door being wrenched open and Malfoy stomping down the hall.

“Just so you know,” Malfoy barked, “yes, I did screw George Weasley. He was an amazing fuck, as I’m sure you know, since _you_ fucked him not a week after you split up with Viktor Krum!”

Harry scrambled off the couch. “How the hell did you know about that?” he demanded, stumbling a little over the words once he saw that Malfoy was wearing nothing but boxers.

“I’m an investigator!” Malfoy cried. “I know things, I read the paper, I listen to gossip, you big idiot! It’s not like you’re the most discreet person ever to walk the planet!”

“Will you stop yelling at me?” Harry roared.

“NO!” And with a strangled cry, Malfoy leapt towards Harry and knocked him to the ground.

Gasping in pain, Harry kicked out his legs and flailed his arms, succeeding in elbowing Malfoy right in the ribs. Wheezing, Malfoy doubled over, then slammed his knee down onto Harry’s right ankle. With a howl, Harry shoved Malfoy hard in the chest, and he went flying backwards, landing on his arse. Harry pounced, pinning Malfoy’s wrists, but Malfoy had got stronger over the years and he was able to roll Harry off him with ease.

As Harry struggled to free himself, Malfoy bent over and glared into Harry’s eyes. “Do you know what it’s like?” he hissed, squeezing Harry’s arms. “To hear Ron talk about you all the time? To go on and on about how amazing you are, how great a friend you are, when you _abandoned_ him for four fucking years?”

“Gerroff me!” Harry snapped.

Malfoy ignored him. “You weren’t there, Potter, to comfort him when you wouldn’t return his letters. To see the disappointment in his eyes. To watch him fall in love with someone else, a _Mudblood_. And then to have to _let him go_.”

Everything suddenly got very hot as all the blood in Harry’s body rushed to the surface of his skin as Malfoy slowly lowered himself onto Harry. _Oh God_ , Harry thought with a groan when he felt Malfoy’s erection poking him in the hip.

“So I let Ron go,” whispered Malfoy. “I let him go and began to listen. And all he ever talked about was you. Harry this, Harry that. Harry’s so great, so smart, he’s a good-looking bloke, you know, you’d two get along great. He’d show me pictures of you around the world. And I kept them.” Malfoy snorted softly. “And I suppose you could say I turned my attention on you.”

Harry’s eyes widened and Malfoy chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I’m not some fanatical stalker,” he said, loosening his hold on Harry’s wrists. “But I do like you. I’ve no idea why, mind. You’re infuriating, do you know that?” Malfoy grinned, white teeth gleaming like a Cheshire cat, and Harry suddenly wanted nothing more than to roll Malfoy over and fuck him through the floor.

Seeing the heat in Harry’s eyes, Malfoy tilted his head and kissed Harry lightly on the lips. A shiver raced down his spine and he groaned. Encouraged, Malfoy kissed him harder, letting go of his wrists to tug on Harry’s hair.

Harry gasped at the sensation and arched up, grinding his erection against Malfoy’s. Malfoy moaned into Harry’s mouth and pressed his hips down, causing Harry to buck once more. Malfoy tore his mouth away and began kissing down Harry’s throat, sucking on sensitive skin.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” Malfoy rumbled in Harry’s ear, and suddenly everything went cold.

Harry froze, back stiffening, and Malfoy raised his head, staring down at him with dilated eyes. “Potter?” he whispered.

“I can’t,” said Harry, sitting up abruptly and dislodging Malfoy from his lap. He landed with a thud on the cold wood floor and stared at Harry with growing ire. “I can’t,” Harry said again, feeling utterly useless.

Malfoy just glared at him. Harry could feel his eyes boring into the back of his head, but he couldn’t, not anymore, it wouldn’t make him happy, so Harry turned his head away and Malfoy let out a growl.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Fine!” Malfoy stood, grabbing his wand from the table, then stomped over to his suitcase. With a loud crack, he was gone.

Harry didn’t sleep at all that night.

**::**

“Well, I’m glad to see you two getting along so well,” said Ron the following morning as he, Harry, and Malfoy awaited the verdict on their evidence.

Harry had showed up around 8:30, unsure whether Malfoy would show. But he was already there, chatting with Ron and looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Until he saw Harry—then his face went blank and his eyes cold. Ron had glanced back and forth between the two, but hadn’t had time to say anything as they were called into the small courtroom early.

They presented the evidence calmly and answered all the Wizengamot’s answers, and now all they had to do was wait to see if they would get permission to exhume Pettigrew’s body.

Harry frowned at Ron’s barb and turned further away from Malfoy, who in turn did the same. Ron sighed loudly and glanced down at his watch. “You two got a lot done in just a few days,” he said amiably, rocking on the balls of his feet. Malfoy snorted and Harry gritted his teeth.

“I always knew you two could get along,” Ron continued. Harry felt like slamming his head against the wall. Surely even Ron wasn’t that clueless?

“Oh yes, we got along spiffingly,” Malfoy snapped sarcastically, and Harry’s head whipped around.

“All right, come on you two, what happened?” said Ron, exasperated.

“Nothing,” said Harry forcefully at the same time Malfoy snapped, “Ask wonder boy over there.”

Ron ran a hand over his face and peered at Harry from behind his fingers.

“Don’t look at me,” Harry hissed. Malfoy growled low in his throat and looked ready to knock Harry to the ground, but just then Mr Weasley poked his head out through the courtroom door.

“We’ve made a decision,” he said with a smile. “Come on in, boys.”

“The evidence you’ve presented is rather disturbing,” boomed Edward Elderberry, who’d become Chief Warlock after Dumbledore’s death. Balder than a newborn babe, Elderberry had to have been the oldest man Harry had ever seen, though he moved quickly and efficiently. His thick spectacles made his eyes look like an owl’s as he peered down at Harry, Ron, and Malfoy.

“The very idea that a traitor such as Peter Pettigrew could still be at large leaves many of us uneasy.” Elderberry coughed loudly into a handkerchief, then wrinkled his nose. “It is thereby the decision of this court to grant your proposal and allow the exhumation of the body of Peter Pettigrew this Saturday at nine o’clock in the morn.”

Harry let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and grinned at Ron, who winked back. Despite Malfoy and the general awfulness of Harry’s life, things were beginning to come together.

He didn’t pause to think how quickly everything was going to fall apart.

**::**

Neither Harry nor Malfoy were allowed to go to the exhumation, so Harry waited impatiently in his flat, pacing up and down the hall, trying desperately not to think about Malfoy or George or Viktor or Juan or Bernard. He needed to concentrate on this case, on the possibility that it wasn’t Pettigrew’s body in that grave, that it could be Elyse’s.

He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and so confused about Malfoy, about why Harry had frozen up the way he did. Flinging himself onto his sofa, Harry took off his glasses and covered his eyes with his arm.

Bernard had called him beautiful the first day they’d met. Harry had blushed and stammered, unused to such attention from a man, but liking it all the same. The first time Harry ever had sex was with Bernard, who’d kept calling him ‘Black Beauty’. It had been an amazing experience, and up ‘til then Harry had always treasured that memory.

Juan…He had never called Harry beautiful, not that he could recall, but his Spanish was quite poor. But Juan did call him ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’, just never beautiful. Though Juan rarely said nice things to Harry.

Viktor, however. Harry let his head fall back against the sofa. Viktor would lavish Harry with compliments and kind words. At times it felt as if he were being worshipped, and it made Harry feel good. He’d liked it, a lot. It wasn’t until after Viktor ended things that Harry realized he never said anything nice back to him. He never gave Viktor a compliment, or told him he was beautiful.

“Why am I so fucked up?” Harry asked the room.

“Because you’re a freak.”

Harry let out a shout and flew off the sofa, swinging his wand around and training it on Malfoy, who was standing in the open front door looking mildly amused.

“Dammit, Malfoy, don’t do that!” Harry barked. Malfoy rolled his eyes and strode into the room.

“Results are back from the exhumation,” he said icily.

Harry’s anger instantly deflated as he took a file out of Malfoy’s hands. He hesitated opening it, though. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the truth…

“It was Elyse’s body,” Malfoy said. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “Large traces of Polyjuice were found around the grave. The Aurors are still unsure as to what happened and why they were so sure it was Pettigrew’s body. But they’re going to the Caldwells soon, and I’m going with them. At least they’ll have closure.”

Harry stared down at the report in his hands. “What about all the things we found out…you know, about Elyse’s loyalties, about why she was passing along information?”

Malfoy hummed and pulled out her diary from his robes pocket. “I’ve found some hidden pages,” he explained, flipping the book open. “She was getting scared. She wanted out. She realized what she was doing was wrong. She was going to the stables that night to tell Pettigrew she wasn’t coming back.”

“And he killed her,” Harry said bitterly. “Because she wanted out.”

“That’s what the Aurors and I are assuming, yes.” Malfoy paused, then stared up at the ceiling. “Look, Potter, about the other night—”

“So Pettigrew’s still out there,” said Harry quickly. He didn’t want to talk about the other night, not yet, not until he understood his own feelings better.

Malfoy sighed and nodded.

“There are rats all around my shop. Some even live in it,” Harry said. “There are rats in here, you claim. So are you gonna help me find the son of a bitch or not?”

Malfoy lowered his eyes in surprise. Then he smiled, a genuine smile, and it took Harry’s breath away.

“Absolutely,” he said.

**::**

Harry and Malfoy walked up the smooth pathway leading towards Ernie Macmillan’s house. They had told Sarah Fawcett earlier about the recovery of Elyse’s body, and she had sobbed, relieved that Elyse and her parents could finally be at peace. Now they were hoping that Ernie and Penelope were home in order to give them the news.

“I couldn’t find much about Pettigrew in the files at the Ministry,” Malfoy was explaining. “But if he was able to become an Animagus, blow up a street of Muggles, kill a young student, and conjure a Dark Lord, among other things, I’m sure he could have made a decent fake wand.”

“It definitely reeked of his mediocre talent,” Harry said with a grimace. “But I still wonder what happened to Elyse’s wand, and why he went through all that trouble to make a new one.”

“Well, he knew _Priori Incantatem_ would be cast and it’s possible he wanted to avoid giving away his game before he could make it safely away.” Malfoy rubbed the back of his neck and snorted. “ _If_ he ran away, that is. He would be stupid enough to stay around England, wouldn’t he?”

“You’ve no idea,” Harry murmured. They had reached the front door and Malfoy knocked swiftly three times. They waited, and waited, but no house-elf appeared. Malfoy sucked in a breath and knocked again, louder this time. Still no one came.

“Maybe they aren’t home,” Harry said uselessly, but Malfoy shook his head.

“They would have left the elf.”

Harry eyed Malfoy, noticing the tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. “Do you think something’s happened?” Harry asked in a low voice.

“I won’t know until I go in there,” said Malfoy.

Pulling out his wand, Harry nodded at the door and said, “I’m ready when you are.”

Malfoy cast him a glance, then aimed his wand at the doorknob and said, “ _Alohomora_.” The heavy oak door swung open easily and Harry and Malfoy tread lightly into the house.

“Aw, fuck,” Malfoy muttered, and Harry turned his head to see Malfoy staring at the badly battered body of Duffy the house-elf.

Harry moved to help the poor creature, but Malfoy grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” he hissed. “It might be dead and you know what happens when an elf dies.”

He remembered all right. He’d witnessed the deaths of hundreds during the final battle. The magic surrounding the bodies had been palpable.

“Leave it for now,” said Malfoy, “and let’s see if Macmillan or Clearwater are home.”

The kitchen and living rooms were clear, and they were approaching the library they’d been in days before when they heard a low moan come from the room. Without thinking, Harry charged towards the room, Malfoy on his heels, and burst through the doors. Ernie and Penelope lay on the floor several feet apart, blood pooling all around them and a large baseball bat.

“Oh God,” Harry groaned, heading towards Penelope while Malfoy rushed to Ernie’s side.

“Oh God,” he said again as he searched Penelope’s neck for a pulse. “Malfoy, she’s not breathing and I can’t feel a pulse. I’m going to send a Patronus to Ginny at St Mungo’s and then one to Ron. We need them here now.”

“Ernie’s all right,” said Malfoy, crawling over to Harry and Penelope. “He’s breathing and his pulse is strong. It just looks like he’s lost a lot of blood. Have you taken any Healer classes?” Malfoy asked anxiously. “We can’t just let her die.”

Harry stood, quickly averting his gaze from all the blood, and strode over to the window. Closing his eyes, Harry pictured Ron and Hermione flanking him on both sides while he battled with Voldemort, felt the love they were projecting, that all the Order was projecting, allowing it to fill his heart, his soul. And suddenly, Malfoy was there, his eyes bright, smile mischievous, and with and surge of magic, Harry bellowed, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A white stag bright as the sun burst from the end of Harry’s wand and he said, “Go to Ginny and tell her we need Healers at—at Ernie Macmillan’s house in Holborn. Er—” Harry turned back to ask Malfoy what the address was, and froze.

In a matter of seconds that felt like an eternity, Harry watched as Ernie towered over Malfoy and then swung the large bat down onto his head. The sickening crack weakened Harry’s knees and he felt himself lurch forward as Malfoy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over Penelope’s still body, blood oozing from a large gash.

Ernie raised crazed eyes and glared at Harry, who stumbled backwards into his Patronus, destroying it.

“Ernie,” Harry choked. “What—what are you doing?”

“Six years, Potter,” he breathed. “Six years and no one cared about that stupid bitch. Not even the Aurors. The only reason her worthless parents care now is because they can get insurance if her body was found.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry gasped. He struggled to raise his wand, but his hands were shaking; this had never happened before, but the image of Malfoy slumping over, the sound of the bat colliding with his head…Harry swallowed back bile. He hadn’t fought for his life since the war ended. His reflexes were shot.

“Put the wand down, Harry,” said Ernie, hovering over Malfoy. “Or I’ll do him permanent damage.”

Harry’s head was swimming. Fuck, he needed to get that Patronus out, he needed to help Malfoy and Penelope. He needed to distract Ernie.

“So did you kill Elyse then?” said Harry loudly. Ernie narrowed his eyes and gracelessly stepped over Penelope and Malfoy’s bodies.

“What’d she do?” Harry continued, backing up. “Was it because she was cheating on you? Because she was on the wrong side? Or did she just burn the toast?”

“You still haven’t figured it out, Harry?” said Ernie, looking viciously pleased. “And you used to be so smart. Your parents would be ashamed.”

Harry’s blood ran cold and the buzzing in his ears grew so loud that he could barely see straight.

“Wormtail,” he spat.

Ernie smiled unpleasantly and his body began to morph, his limbs shortening, hair lightening and falling off in clumps. Peter had lost a lot of weight over the years, but he was just as recognizable as ever. Harry never hated someone so much.

“You know, I was so sure you’d figure it out that day you came to visit,” said Peter conversationally. “But I suppose six years living another person’s life can make even the Chosen One blind to the truth when it’s sitting right in front of him.”

“What have you done to Ernie?” Harry demanded.

Peter gave a twisted grin. “Ernie’s…alive, I suppose you could say.” He chuckled and then pulled his wand out from his robes, dropping the bat to the floor. “Hawthorn, twelve-and-three-quarters. Mine was broken helping the Dark Lord, so I borrowed Elyse’s. She didn’t mind, of course, since she was dead.”

“You’re a bastard,” Harry growled, rage coursing through his veins. “Now tell me where Ernie is!”

Peter tsked. “Now, Harry, show some patience. Like I said, Ernie’s alive. Physically. I needed him for the Polyjuice, though I expect he should be sharing the mental ward with the Longbottoms at St Mungo’s now. Nasty curse, Cruciatus.”

Harry gripped his wand so tightly that red and gold sparks flew out the end. Peter’s eyes snapped down and he sneered. “I told you to lose the wand, Potter. You don’t want me to harm your little boyfriend anymore, do you?”

“Shut up!” Harry shouted. “You’re not touching him again!”

Lip curling, Peter stepped closer to Harry, backing him against the window. “Your father would have been so ashamed,” he sneered. “Knowing his boy was a queer. He hated queers. That’s why he tormented Snape so much, you know.”

“Fuck you,” Harry growled. “You weren’t my father’s friend. You never were! You betrayed them, everyone, and you deserve to die!”

Peter gave out a sepulchral laugh. “You could barely kill the Dark Lord, Potter, and then only with your little friends by your side. But they aren’t here, are they? You’re all alone.”

“He’s not alone.”

Peter whirled around, tripping on his robes, and gasped once as Malfoy swung the bat wide and slammed it into Peter’s head.

Peter groaned and then collapsed, blood pooling beneath his head. Harry rushed forward and said, “ _Incarcerous_ ,” binding his wrists and ankles, then added a spell that would prevent Pettigrew from transforming into a rat should he awake.

Malfoy gave a soft groan then and sank to the ground. Feeling sick, Harry quickly gathered him in his arms and Disapparated.

**::**

Malfoy had been immediately rushed into the emergency ward at St Mungo’s, but Harry hadn’t been allowed to follow him because the Aurors were swarming around him like mad. Eventually Ron was able to force his way through the crowd and babbling, Harry told him everything that had happened at Ernie’s house.

Ron’s eyes had gone round as saucers and he barked out orders to the surrounding men and women, who Disapparated at once, followed by a small team of Healers to check on the status of Penelope and the real Ernie.

Harry was later shown to Malfoy’s private room and he’d remained there ever since. It had been over a day since the incident at Ernie’s and Harry had been alone with Malfoy with the exception of a few Healers who came in to check on Malfoy’s status. He was going to be fine, they said. Just a mild concussion, he’s recovering well. You should get some sleep.

Harry refused to budge.

The door to Malfoy’s room opened and Ron strode in, followed by Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry stood as Ron walked right up to him and enveloped him in a huge hug.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said into Harry’s shoulder, squeezing hard. Harry coughed and patted Ron on the back.

“I promise,” he murmured.

Ron let go and punched Harry a little too hard in the arm. Kingsley shook his hand and Tonks embraced him as well, kissing him on the cheek.

“Pettigrew’s in Azkaban as we speak,” said Ron, eyeing Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. “We found Ernie this morning in the cellar. He’s lost his mind completely. He’s been transferred to the spell damage ward.”

“What about Penelope?” asked Harry as he sank down into his chair.

“She was dead when we arrived at the house,” said Tonks. “Tests reveal that she’s been under Imperius for years, though, which would explain why she never told anyone. The house-elf is dead as well. He’d actually never belonged to the Macmillan family but was purchased by Peter after the war and after the house-elf rebellion. That’s why it was able to keep Pettigrew’s many secrets.”

“How are Ernie’s parents taking this? And Penelope’s?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Kingsley in a grave voice. “Potter, you should get some sleep. Go to the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. We’ll let you know when he wakes.”

“No,” Harry mumbled, rolling his head to the side and watching Malfoy’s peaceful face. “I want to be here.”

Harry missed the look Kingsley exchanged with Ron and Tonks. “Very well,” he rumbled. “We’ll see our way out.” He and Tonks bid Harry farewell and they strode out of the room.

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet. “He’s gonna be all right, you know,” he said. “He’s just sleeping because he knows it’ll annoy you.”

Harry snorted and allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, he’s an irritating little bugger.”

“You like him.”

Harry stared down at the clasped hands in his lap. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. A lot.”

Ron beamed and said, “I knew you two would hit it off.”

“Ron, can I ask you something?” Harry said quickly.

“Sure, mate.”

Harry bit his lip and glanced once more at Malfoy’s still form on the bed. “How did you repay your life debt to him?”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He then sighed and pulled up a chair to sit down. “It’s…really personal, Harry. And not just for me, but for him. It happened when you were in…er, Australia, I think.”

“I want to know,” said Harry softly, yet firmly.

Nodding, Ron sighed again and rested his elbows on his knees. “His dad died in Azkaban, you know that. But his mum…she was accidentally Kissed by a dementor right after Voldemort was vanquished.”

“I knew she had died,” said Harry. He couldn’t resist reaching over and taking Malfoy’s hand in his own.

“Yeah, most people know,” said Ron, sounding tired. “But she was a living, breathing shell before that. Malfoy had to take care of her day and night, living with the knowledge that she would remain that way for the rest of her life—which could have been another seventy years. He couldn’t stand the thought…so he came to me.”

“He called in the life debt, then,” said Harry, and Ron nodded. “What did you do?”

“I wrote a few owls, had some chats with an important Healer here on staff…”

“Ginny?”

Ron smiled grimly. “Yeah. She got me some potions. A lot of potions, with instructions on how to dispense them into a body without suspicion arising. Then I went over to Draco’s house one night and gave him the potions and instructions. Mrs Malfoy was found the next morning to have died peacefully in her sleep.”

Harry silently contemplated this while Ron watched Malfoy sleep.

“You’re a good man,” Harry said. “And a good friend.”

Ron turned red and lowered his head. “Harry…” he mumbled.

Grinning, Harry felt his eyelids begin to droop and before long, he was dreaming of playful grey eyes and a Cheshire cat smile.

**::**

Harry woke the next morning with a very painful crick in the neck and a warm blanket draped across him. Smacking his lips and sure that his breath smelt awful, Harry turned his head and found Malfoy’s bed empty.

He scrambled out of his chair in an instant and was heading for the door when a familiar voice stopped him.

“Potter, I’m right here.”

Whirling around, Harry saw Malfoy standing by a large window gazing out onto the busy street below.

“I woke up about an hour ago but I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“How are you feeling?” said Harry worriedly.

Malfoy continued to stare out the window as he said, “All right. A little dizzy but nothing I can’t handle. I take it Pettigrew’s in Azkaban then?”

“Er, yeah,” said Harry, taking a tentative step forward. “He won’t be getting out of there anytime soon. He’s in a special room to prevent him from changing into a rat.”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “And Penelope, I take it she didn’t make it.”

“No. But Ernie…he’s alive, but he’s in the Janus Thickey Ward. His mind will never recover.” Harry bit his lip, gathering the courage he would need.

“Malfoy, look—” he began.

“Potter, what have you been running away from all this time?” Malfoy interrupted.

Harry faltered. “I—what? I’m not running from anything,” he protested. “I’m…running towards something.”

Malfoy turned and began to walk shakily to where Harry was standing. “Running towards what?” he asked.

Harry’s heart pounded so loudly in his chest he was sure Malfoy could hear it. “Happiness,” he whispered. “I want to be happy. Ever since the war and traveling around the world and then moving back here…I want to know what it’s like to be happy, all the time.”

Malfoy was in front of Harry now and he reached up a hand to brush some fringe out of Harry’s eyes. “No one is happy all the time, Potter,” he said with a snort. “People have ups and downs. That’s just how it is.” He paused, cocking his head, then added, “What exactly do you think being happy entails?”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes and leaning into Malfoy’s hand. “Waking up with a smile. Going to bed with a smile. Having loads of sex. Good conversation. No arguments, no fighting.”

“No excitement,” said Malfoy. Harry’s eyes snapped open.

“That’s not—”

Malfoy ran his hands up Harry’s neck and grabbed Harry’s hair with his fists, tugging lightly. “Listen to me, Potter,” Malfoy breathed, hot air puffing against Harry’s lips. “ _This_ , this right here. _This_ is happiness. It’s not about smiles or kittens or whatever fucked up idea you have.

“It’s about having a shitty life but being able to be at peace with oneself. It’s about being able to go to work, even if you hate waking up in the mornings, and meeting with friends on the weekends despite having seen them two days before; it’s about fucking ourselves raw, then waking up entangled the next morning with awful breath and kissing each other awake.”

Malfoy pressed his forehead against Harry’s. “It’s about arguing and making up. It’s about experiencing _everything_ around you. It’s about _feeling_. It’s about being able to fall in love with the most infuriating man on earth.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “I—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy mumbled. “Kiss me, fuck me, I don’t care, just shut up.”

“This is mad,” Harry gasped as Malfoy’s fingers ran lightly down his neck.

Malfoy kissed him then, hard and rough and needy, and every cell in Harry’s body came to life, and he kissed back just as eagerly, running his hands down Malfoy’s back, gripping his arse, and feeling alive, so alive. It was almost too much for Harry, but he didn’t pull away, he refused, because he needed to feel this, he needed to know what this felt like. This feeling, this emotion…

And he finally understood.

**::**

Harry was probably going to need a new wand corer soon, since he was having such difficulty coring the elder wood wand. The phoenix feather wasn’t making things any easier, either, proving to be especially stubborn as Harry tried for the fourth time to core the wood.

Finally, Harry was able to thread the feather through the core and he gave out a small whoop of joy. He took the wand down from the corer and then dipped it for seven seconds in a thin varnish. After casting a Drying Spell, Harry set the wand on his work table and admired the handiwork.

Elder wood, eleven-and-one-half inches, phoenix feather core, a bit stubborn but good for Defense. It was his favorite wand to date.

Summoning his ledger, Harry quickly wrote it into the book, then sent it flying back in place when he heard the bell to his shop ring.

Harry wiped his hands on his smock as he entered the front of his shop, then groaned silently. It was Jonah and his mother, Mrs Bakerson.

Sighing, Harry grabbed the test wand out of his back pocket and handed it to Jonah without saying a word.

Mrs Bakerson, however, was quite forthcoming today. “Where have you been, Mr Potter?” she demanded, hands on hips. “I tried to come twice last week and you weren’t here either time!”

“I was helping with an Auror case,” he said tersely. “I’ve done it before, you remember.”

“Well, Jonah needs to be able to test his magic,” she said somewhat shrilly, and Harry had had enough.

“That is it!” he barked, and Mrs Bakerson reared back, looking stunned. “You can no longer come in here and subject your poor boy to this torture any longer! This is _my_ shop and I am not obligated to do anything for you!” Harry took a deep shuddering breath. “He is your _son_ , you should love him no matter what. I did not sacrifice half my life saving this world just to have people like you—”

“Jonah,” she suddenly gasped, tears in her eyes. Harry stopped ranting and swiveled his head to find Jonah levitating a feather, an expression of pure awe on his face.

“Oh Jonah!” Mrs Bakerson sobbed, and gathered her son in her arms. “Oh my baby boy, I always knew you could do it. You used to fly your stuffed dragons all over your room as a babe.” She hugged her son again, who was grinning from ear to ear, and then she looked up at Harry and mouthed _Thank you_.

Stunned and a little unsure what to do, Harry just nodded and watched, bewildered, as Jonah and his mother bounded out of the shop.

The door opened again suddenly and Malfoy walked in, eyebrows raised. “Do women often run from your shop in tears?” he asked.

“Every day,” Harry quipped. “Er, not that I’m unhappy to see you, but is there something you need? I already showed you where I stored the laundry detergent…”

Malfoy grinned and rolled his eyes. “I’m here on business, actually,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Did I ever tell you my wand was broken after the war?”

That was surprising. “No,” said Harry. “Whose wand have you been using?”

“Mmm,” said Malfoy, casting his gaze about the shop. “My father’s, actually. Ash, unicorn hair, ten inches. Good for Charm work.” He pulled out the wand and placed it into Harry’s open hands.

“Why didn’t you ever get a new one?” he asked as he examined it.

“I…At the time, I didn’t care to get a new one,” Malfoy explained. “I was proud to be using my father’s wand. But after what happened the other day, I realized I needed a wand that had chosen me. It’s time to let this one go.”

Harry stared down at the wand once owned by Lucius Malfoy, a man Harry still hated to this day. The magic thrummed warmly in his palm. Smiling, Harry looked up and reached out to grasp one of Malfoy’s hands.

“I think I have the perfect wand.”

Fin


End file.
